


Shotgun

by touchmymachete



Category: Mötley Crüe, The Dirt (2019)
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Tension, Shotgunning, tfw u get high and kiss ur best friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-05 23:06:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20281357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/touchmymachete/pseuds/touchmymachete
Summary: "Shotgun?"I nod, keeping myself busy by sucking in another lungful of skunk-scented bliss. I feel a pretty good high thrumming at the back of my head, and a dopey grin slides over my face when he continues to stare at me with those pretty, pretty eyes. Fuck. "Want me to show you?"





	Shotgun

**Author's Note:**

> This one's dedicated to SaintsofLosAngeles, for egging me on to write even _more_ Tommy/Nik content! You rock! Thank you :,)
> 
>   
This was meant to be like, 800 words... Ended up turning into this beast! No apologies from me though LMAO I hope you enjoy it!  
  
Takes place before the band fully comes together; around the time Vince is considering joining but still hasn't hit them up yet. Written with The Dirt's Crüe in mind but, like always, you're free to interpret this as you will!  


Even in the dark, Tommy shines like a beacon.

That's not supposed to sound like some dumb, sappy metaphorical shit you might read on the back of a _Woman's Weekly_ magazine, but fuck, I don't know. It might as well be, with the way I've been feeling lately.

He's waiting- well, we're both waiting, technically, but he's in front of me and I'm only tagging along for the ride, so _he's_ waiting in line for our turn with the local dealer and I'm stood beside him with my hands crammed inside my pockets. It's freezing outside this time of year and I'm about to drop dead from the wintry air, but Tommy's doing just _peachy keen_ in his ratty Sex Pistols tee and a pair of jeans so tight they might as well be illegal. He jams out to something in his own world, hums a few notes to The Go Go's _We Got the Beat_, and when I finally turn to look at him he drums an imaginary solo against the fabric of my jacket's shoulder with a thousand watt grin.

Across the street, I can hear a symphony of car horns blaring. Angry shouts follow and then it's only seconds later that an ugly orange Pontiac crosses the intersection, tires squealing and smoke billowing up, up, _up_ like the engine caught fire. The sound is deafening, like maybe the rubber treads had shredded in this person's haste to take off, but then I'm considering that- no, maybe it _wasn't _the rubber that had just torn itself to pieces; maybe it was my fucking _eardrums._

"Go-Go music really makes us dance," Tommy sings in a low octave, "do the pony, puts us in a _tra-a-nce_. Do what you see just give us a chance- c'mon Nikki, this next part's yours!" He taps harder at my shoulder and I roll my eyes, leaning even further against the brick wall. "That's when we fall in line! 'Cause we got the beat, we got... the... Aw, really, man?"

"Not in the mood."

"Since when did you become such a stick in the mud?" He complains, kicking a heel up against the same wall and rolling those brown eyes at me. I expertly avoid them because, well, it's hard keeping my composure when he's staring at me like a dumb fuckin' puppy dog.

"You know how late it is, man? You know how _cold_ it is? I'm tired and I just wanna smoke this shit up already," I say, bringing a hand up to bite at my cuticles so I look occupied.

"Yeah, well, just you wait. I knew this guy from high school. He was always peddling drugs during lunch and behind building B after sixth period." I blink, meeting his gaze with empty eyes. He backtracks a little bit. "Social studies." Ah. "He's top quality, Nik-Nok, I'm telling you."

I choose not to answer, just simply shrug my shoulders. Tommy busies himself with beating out another unnamed number against a storm drain, maybe one of those songs he told me he's been working on, and I end up tuning him out as I get lost in my thoughts once more.

I'm not really sure how it ended up like this. How I ended up like this, I mean. Tommy kinda makes me wanna puke, sometimes. Not in the 'he's nasty' sorta way, or the 'he's annoying' sorta way either- though he _is_ annoying, let's not get that confused. He's got this thing about him that throws me off kilter when I least expect it; like when he slaps a hand on my back after a job well done, or when he gets me in a headlock for one of those hard-knuckled noogies, or- _God_, don't even start with the awkward side hugs. They're only awkward because I make them awkward, but, Jesus, warn a guy first, you know?

His eyes are pretty. I notice that a lot more frequently these days. He's got thin lips, but the cupid's bow is captivating to look at. Long curly hair- or is it wavy?- that touches his shoulders, and- wow, he's got pretty broad shoulders, too. The rest of him is slim though. Slim chest, slim hips... Slim thighs. He did mention once that his sister's nickname for him was 'Chicken Legs', and against my better judgment I never picked up that alias for him. He appreciates it, I bet, even though he has no fucking idea I considered using it in the first place.

When he touches me, that puke-y sensation comes back and a few times I've found myself jerking away because of it. Usually we're pretty good keeping things casual between us, and I can laugh at his (admittedly funny) jokes, his dumb antics, the stupid shit he does on a regular basis. But it's those chance moments, like that time he leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek for no goddamn reason-

Yeah. Puke city.

It hasn't actually happened, though. Not yet anyway. It's like flipping a switch. When he keeps a proper distance between us I'm okay, but the second those eyes turn to liquid chocolate and those lips quirk up _just so_, teasing and playful, my brain is mush and my heart is palpitating and my palms are sweating like a bitch and-

I'm brought back to the present to stifle a gag the same moment Tommy's friend makes his _grand_ appearance, yanking his run-down door open and fixing us both with a stony expression.

"Tony!" Tommy crows, arms shooting straight up in the air and- yeah, Tony, me too. The criminal lookalike softens like a piece of butter in the microwave and steps forward to accept Tommy's embrace, the both of them patting each other on the back with solid, hearty thwacks. It must have been a while since they've gotten the chance to see each other, I muse. Tony's laughing and asking how he's been, and here I am standing a few paces behind them like a third wheel on a date.

"Who's this?" Popeye asks. Tommy turns to look at me, following his gaze, and I uncomfortably shift my weight from foot to foot.

"Oh- _duh_! My bad. Tony, this is Nikki. Nikki Sixx! We're starting a band together, dude!" Tommy's nodding enthusiastically, and his friend continues to scrutinize me like some kind of man of the law. I'm about to open my mouth and tell him to get bent, crawl in a ditch and die, or maybe even flip him off; but the guy just scoffs and shakes his head like Tommy told him some kind of unbelievable, dirty secret.

They do their business then, or maybe they don't, I don't know. I'm not paying attention anymore. Tommy turns to give me a thumbs up while Tony's searching through his bag of narcotic wonders, throwing in a wink as he mouths the words 'top quality' again like I'd need the reassurance. I can't help smirking back despite my sour mood. He grins even wider, spinning back around just in time for his dealer to finish his search and hand him an unmarked baggie, and then I'm back to zoning out before I can catch the rest.

Beneath the poor light of Dickhead's porch light, Tommy looks even more like a beacon than he did before. The word 'angel' crosses my mind but then I really _do_ want to puke, because _Jesus fuck_-

What is _wrong_ with me?

Pale yellow seems to make his hair glow, flickering strands knocked askew by the restless wind. He reads my mind for a moment because then he's reaching up to smooth the mess down, laughing, shoving the bag in his back pocket with his other free hand. My eyes trail down to said back pocket, settling there for a good few seconds, and- oh, I know this feeling. _Yearning_. Yearning to be that little Ziploc packet of weed, or maybe the fingers rustling through his unruly head of hair-

"Ready to go?" Tommy exclaims, slamming into me and nearly sending me sprawling out into the cement. An arm, long and bony, hooks around my shoulder and begins to steer me away; out of the shady lot and down the bustling sidewalk.

I'm on autopilot as he navigates us back towards our own apartment complex, dodging the occasional partygoer that crosses our path every now and then. I say 'partygoer' because nobody would be caught dead in these parts unless they had the sole intent of getting fucked up; which was something we- as in Tommy, Mick, and I- were pretty good at. We provided the crash pad, anyway. Budget was tight as far as booze went, but that was okay, since everyone knew the BYOB rule before they even showed up to get the fun started to begin with.

Tonight, though, I wasn't feeling it. Weed was one of those things you _had_ to share, regardless of company. Tommy was aware of that, I think, because he had tucked away a pretty sizeable bag of green-

And that was a lot of fucking money, too. Shit. I'd have to chew his ass out later.

We're about a block or so from home when I pull out from beneath the weight of his arm, grabbing him by the wrist and tugging him away so that we can take a different detour. There's some resistance when I pull him towards a (mostly) empty side street, and when I look back at him, he's visibly confused.

"Where're we going?" He asks.

"Somewhere with less people," I say, releasing his hand when I feel him catching up with me. He's back to slinging an arm around my shoulders though, and I can feel that familiar heat crawling up my neck and spilling into my cheeks. "I don't feel like getting high with a bunch of strangers right now."

Tommy goes quiet after that, but I'm not really sure why. Maybe he wasn't into the idea of smoking alone with me? It would sort of make sense, I guess, because things tended to be more enjoyable in numbers, but he was the sort to always be down when it came to kicking up dust with me; whether it was just us or not. From my peripherals, I see him offer a single nod.

"I can dig it," he replies, and then he's back to walking with that familiar Tommy-swagger, whistling a ditty under his breath.

It was a short trip after that. I stop us right before the curb of the sidewalk, and jerk my head towards a park bench sitting just over the edge of the grass. Wind whistles beyond the chain link fence behind us and I shiver as I sit, pulling Tommy's attention pretty quickly.

"Cold?" He laughs. I sigh.

"Won't be soon. Where's the herb?"

I notice right then that he hesitates. It's a miniscule thing to even notice in the first place, but I still see it. His hand stills on his lap, unsure, before he's arching up a bit and reaching back to pull the plastic loose from his jeans. Under the street light, I'm able to get a better view of whatever his friend- Tony, I remember vaguely- had given him.

Six or seven pre-rolled joints, with a blunt thrown in the mix just because. I guess I stared at them for a little too long with a little too stern of an expression, because Tommy's clearing his throat and shifting awkwardly beside me.

"Is this okay?" He asks, and offers me the baggie. I take it, nodding, and reach into one of my own pockets to fish around for a lighter.

"Mhm."

"Are we gonna smoke _all_ of them?"

I'm laughing then; a real, full-bellied laugh that draws his attention pretty raptly. I can see something like embarrassment light the torches in his face, though that might just be my own imagination. He's washed yellow in the artificial lighting, and besides, the lighting itself is pretty shitty anyway. "Not even close!"

"Oh," he breathes, then grins nice and big. His goofy smile, not the pretty one. I'd clam up if he pulled that shit right now. "Well fuck, man. I don't know! S'not like I ever smoked pot before."

My ears start ringing.

"_What_?"

"Yeah! I didn't know how to bring it up earlier, but shit, Nik. The only time I ever smoked was with my cousins at a family reunion back in junior year, and I only got one puff in. I don't know how any of this works." His eyes follow my hand as I reach into the bag to grab one of the joints, and it feels like my tendons are being lit on fire. In fact- all of me is being lit on fire at this point. I resign to my fiery, inferno-filled death as I open my mouth and say,

"So I'm gonna have to be the one to pop your cherry, huh?"

Oh no, puke feeling is back, _puke feeling is back_. Tommy's eyes flicker up to meet my gaze with a sheepish expression and- oh, shit. There's that smile again. It's rare, but it hits me like a semi every single time I see it; he's shy or embarrassed or positively _chuffed_ because his lips are tilting up _just enough_ to reveal a top row of perfectly straight teeth.

"Yeah, I guess," he replies, knocking me out of my sick thoughts once more. "You cool with that, dude?"

"Uh huh."

"Rad."

The Bic in my hand sputters to life after a few clicks, and I hover the end of the joint over the meager flame. Tommy watches with an adorably awestruck expression, like he's fucking entranced at the sight of someone about to smoke a fat one, and after a moment of quiet contemplation I'm handing it over to him with a grin.

He blinks. "Uh-"

"You want the first hit?" I ask, and the way his throat constricts when he swallows is mesmerizing. I try not to focus on that, and glance back up at his face through my lashes.

"Yeah, sure, dude. Do I just...?"

"Like smoking a cigarette. Try not to take too deep of a hit, 'cause you can fuck yourself over like that." I nod at him when he takes the joint between his long, spindly fingers. It's almost comical with how much they dwarf it, compared to my own smaller ones. "If it helps, breathe the smoke into your mouth first instead of your lungs. Ever had a cancer stick?"

He shakes his head.

"That's rough, buddy."

I smile and he smiles back, but he looks nervous as fuck and definitely unsure about the whole situation. His hand shakes when he raises the joint to his lips, and I almost feel bad for doing this with him. Another piece of his innocence stripped away, all thanks to me.

I get a sick, pleasurable twist in my gut at the thought, and try my best to remain outwardly neutral.

Tommy inhales, makes a funny face, and then exhales just as quickly. A sliver of smoke slips past his lips when he coughs, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes again for the second time tonight. That was barely anything!

I'm still leaning over though, clapping a palm between his shoulder blades in an attempt to help him get it all out. He wheezes when the worst of his attack is over, eyes watering.

"Shit still burns as bad as it did the last time."

"Wh- _C'mon_ Tommy, you can do better than that!" I laugh, pushing the joint back towards him when he juts it out into my chest. "At least get a buzz before you stop!"

"Naw," he rasps, repeating his motions and shoving it in my face again. Scowling playfully, I take it. "I'm good, man. Starting to realize this isn't my sorta thing, I think."

"You're the one who bought it! You said he was a friend from school!"

"I only did that because _you_ said you wanted to smoke, and I happened to know a guy!"

I groan exasperatedly and rub my free hand down the side of my face, lifting the weed to my own mouth so I can get started myself. The first hit is always the best, I think, and once I let my hand lower back down to my lap, I turn to face Tommy with an unreadable expression. His brows are knitted together in the classic _Tommy Thinking_ expression, and when my lungs finally start to burn I exhale hard enough to push the smoke directly into his face.

"Hey!" He laughs, fanning the cloud away with a hand. "Fuck you, you show off."

"I'm tellin' ya man, first couple times suck and then it's smooth sailing from there on out."

I take another drag, hold it for a few seconds, and breathe the smoke in his face again; but he doesn't react as he did a second ago. When the fog clears he's _Tommy Thinking_ again, a conspiratorial grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. Perplexed, I raise a brow to prompt him.

"Would this work?" He asks. I tilt my head, eyes narrowing, and he elaborates, "me just breathing in the smoke like this. Could I get high by doing that instead?"

"Mmm. Yes and no?" He waits for me to explain, which I do after another lazy hit. "If we were in a car or a room or something, it could work. But since we're outside, it probably won't," I say, voice thick under the pressure of the smoke. When I exhale, I can see him breathe in the dissipating murky cloud, and something in my gut twinges.

Wait a second.

_Hold on. _There 's another way around this, I think, but I'm too chicken shit to actually suggest it. I should be too chicken shit to suggest it, because no fucking way was Tommy about to just- There just wasn't...

There was no fucking way. No way in hell.

... right?

"There is this one other thing we could try," I'm saying before I can think twice about it, and damn it, I fucking hate myself. Tommy seems to perk up then, turning his body so that he facing me instead of the empty road. He pulls a long leg up to curl in front of him, the other dangling off the side of the bench.

"Yeah? What's that?"

"We could shotgun it," I say as conversationally as possible, but there's a hitch to my breath that I can't control. He doesn't notice it - or, if he does, he doesn't comment on it - and he's back to that intrigued puppy dog look, scanning my face like the words might flash over my forehead rather than spill from my mouth.

"Shotgun?"

I nod, keeping myself busy by sucking in another lungful of skunk-scented bliss. I feel a pretty good high thrumming at the back of my head, and a dopey grin slides over my face when he continues to stare at me with those pretty, pretty eyes. Fuck. "Want me to show you?"

Apprehension crosses over his features again, but he nods without hesitation. He even smiles back a little, and Christ- it's _that _smile again. Am I really gonna puke right here? _Right now_?

"I'm down, dude. Show me what'chya got."

That's as good an invitation as any. My heart thunders in my chest and it's a wonder he doesn't mention anything about _that_, because I _swear_ he can hear it. I know I can. I'm slow to press the joint to my lips again and inhale deep, keeping my eyes on the burning cherry. The comfortable sting warms my insides, and Tommy leans forward, probably expecting me to spew another stream of smoke straight into his face again.

That's not exactly how this goes, I think, but it makes things a little more convenient.

Scooting towards him, I close the short distance between us and reach out, trying my hardest to ignore the pang of fear that jets through my veins when he recoils a bit. My hands cup his face gingerly and he seizes up, making me wince.

"Don't freak out," I slur through the heavy weight in my chest, and before he has a chance to ask _'freak out about what?_' I'm gently pressing my lips against his in a feather-light kiss.

Kiss, kiss, _kiss_\- this wasn't a fucking kiss, I tell myself. Shit, no- this was me helping him out, nothing more.

As if on cue, Tommy inhales sharply at the gesture and I take advantage of that; exhaling into his mouth in the same motion, letting him get his fill of the hit. He pulls away abruptly, choking, but his coughing fit is much shorter this time around and I feel a sense of accomplishment wash through me despite the fact that I am literally shaking. Not from the cold anymore, no, though I'm sure it doesn't help-

My nerves are on fire and I'm ready to combust.

"How- Was..." I trail off, swallowing audibly. Somewhere far off in the field behind us, a dog starts barking. "Was it better this time?"

Tommy clears his throat, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. He inhales deeply, as though to fully clear his lungs, and then he laughs; the sound shaken and estranged and full of bewilderment. "Yeah," he replies after a couple of moments, grinning like the idiot he was. He looks up, probably to meet my gaze, but I'm glancing away before that happens. "Yeah, a lot better."

"Again?" I ask, rolling the joint between my fingers. It's about halfway spent, so there was no time to stall. I fear what comes next, but Tommy's quick to squash my doubts.

"Yeah," he repeats, and maybe I'm hopeful (or just high), but for a fleeting moment I thought I might have heard a little excitement laced in there somewhere. I don't know. I hope I'm reading this right, because it's going to be the death of me if I'm not.

I take another drag from the joint, long and deep. Tommy's watching, anticipating, and when I move to lean forwards again I'm startled out of my wits to see him meet me halfway.

Our lips clash together a little more firmly than the last time; both chapped and a little scratchy as they press and rub and holy fuck, this isn't good when you're the type to get a stoner boner-

Something wet slips along the damp flesh of my inner lower lip and I make a noise; small and surprised. Tommy's seems to sober up then because he's pulling away, but I hadn't given him the hit yet so I reach out with one hand, curl it in his shirt, and pull him back in. Our mouths mold together and I'm suddenly aware that this could certainly count as a real kiss this time, but I'm too nervous to linger on it as I cram my tongue between his teeth to get him to open up.

He does so immediately and I'm breathing into him without hesitation, feeding him smoke through one long push. He sucks it all in, and by some miracle, he manages to hold it without coughing.

When we part, it's much slower than last time. My eyes flutter open - _when did they close?_ \- and I find his are still closed as well; only opening when he decides he's held it in long enough before exhaling the rest gently through his nose.

"Again," Tommy says, and I can't suppress the full-body shudder that wracks through me at that.

I barely have enough time to finish off what's left of the joint before large hands are grabbing at me, yanking me across the bench. I fumble, catching myself on Tommy's shoulders, and before I can process my next move he's kissing me hard; our teeth clicking together in a painful reunion.

It's my turn to gasp, smoke leaving my system as he all but pilfers it from my lungs, tongue slipping along the slack seam of my lips as he does so. He doesn't hold it in this time, simply lets it filter through his nose like a doped-up dragon, and I close my eyes when I realize that this...

_This_ was a real fucking kiss.

I move a little closer, finding a more comfortable position as I hover over his lap. My hands slide up to his face, one cupping his jaw while the other slips around to tangle in his messy brown curls at the base of his neck. He makes a strange noise at that, something low and guttural, before that clever tongue is licking behind my teeth and pressing into the roof of my mouth and _fuck_, it's more than I could have hoped for right now, or at all, because I'd never expected something like this to happen in a million goddamn years-

Warm palms slide up my thighs, all the way up until they're treading close to the aching juncture between my legs. I squirm, threatening to separate from the kiss, but he's faster than I am; hands quickly gliding around to cup my ass and trail further down, hooking into the meat just below my rear. I'm confused for all of two seconds before he's yanking my knees further apart, forcing me to land directly on his crotch and _fuck_-

"_Shit_, Tommy," I yelp, breaking away to arch into the sudden friction. He's hot on my heels though, diving forwards to latch onto my neck and suck a mean bruise into the chilled flesh. "Shit!" I hiss, writhing, and he seems to like that; moaning low and snapping his hips up in response. I wasn't aware of just how turned on I was in that moment, because the church choir was singing right into my fucking ear when he whispered my name like a prayer, rolling his hips again, and again, and _again_-

I grab two fistfuls of hair and all but yank Tommy's head back up so that I can kiss him again, swollen lips landing clumsily against the corner of his mouth before they finally fit back together like a puzzle piece. I chase the taste of peppermint gum and stale weed down the back of his throat and he groans again, hands moving from my hips to the button and zipper of my jeans. His thumb rubs against the rigid swell just behind the zipper's teeth and I jerk at the pressure sharply, cursing him for being such a fucking tease.

"Mm, Nikki," he sighs, and if words could kill I would have been brained right on the fucking spot. I lean forward to bite at the soft skin right below his jaw, reveling in the strangled noise he makes when I leave a nasty mark of my own; laving at the tender spot to soothe whatever pain it might have caused.

The roar of an engine reaches my brain like someone talking while I'm underwater might, stifled and undecipherable. Tommy doesn't seem to mind either, still moving against me in like a cat in heat as he tugs the metal clasps free and finally slips a cool hand between my skin and the fabric of my underwear-

A car horn blaring right beside us is like a shotgun blast to the face; the culprits laughing and hollering catcalls as they speed past us and fly around the corner.

Tommy jumps and I scramble back, falling off of his lap and onto the pebble-infested concrete below. Sharp bits of rock are digging into my ass hard enough to touch my very _soul_ and suddenly I'm not as stunned as I was two seconds ago; now I'm just pissed and in pain.

Tommy, however, is still in a state of disbelief.

"The fuck was that?" He murmurs.

"Couple of dickheads in a shitty Ford pickup?" I grumble back, sitting up on my knees so that I can rub at my poor asscheek.

"Not _that_."

_Oh. _Right.

Under the guise of my bangs, I glance up at Tommy with a look of apprehension. He's staring down at me with a similar expression, but his eyes are starstruck. The air between us feels awkward, but I'm still high as fuck so I have no problem telling him what's on my mind.

"I thought I was gonna throw up," I say. He blinks, startled, but slowly regains his composure and lets an easy-going smile grace his features.

"Me too," comes his reply, and I'm belting out another laugh as I find my feet and dust the dirt from my clothes. Unsurprisingly, he laughs too.

When the mirth slips away, we are blanketed in nothing but silence. Tommy bounces a knee anxiously, tapping out a frantic beat with his converse, and I chew my lower lip in thought. My mouth makes a sound when I part my lips to speak, and his attention is on me in milliseconds.

"Well... How was the weed, man?"

He nods. "Pretty good..."

"You still high?"

Tommy pauses, thinks about it. His brows crease for a moment before he's shrugging, throwing his hands up to accentuate his answer, "I dunno. Not really, I guess."

I nod again, glancing down at the forgotten baggie of joints. "You wanna head back, maybe smoke some more when we're back inside?" I ask, and watch his grin turn shy; almost bashful.

"Sounds rad."

Tommy is scooping the weed back up and stashing it in his pocket again when I finally find the courage to ask, "Think you can smoke it on your own this time?"

He 'hmmm's as though the question is a real tough one to answer, walking towards me with a look of concentration etched deep into his features. His hand presses into my lower back and ushers the both of us to start walking; dipping lower for only a fraction of a second.

"I think you might need to show me again, just to be _extra_ sure," he says at last and I snicker, keeping my eyes trained on the T in the road in front of us; the T that leads back to our apartment, our house guests, Mick, and, by extension, _my_ bedroom.

"Sure. Of course, man."


End file.
